


Wingless Runner

by Elizabeth_Barton



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Crossover, F/M, Family Secrets, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Little Brothers, M/M, Repressed Memories, Survivor Guilt, The Avengers adopt Gladers, Thomas dad is an Avenger, Young Heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Barton/pseuds/Elizabeth_Barton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There wasn’t much that they could take away; I had been too young when they came so there weren’t much memories worth of my attention. [...] My own parents are just blurry images of people in my mind, unable to get a form, unable to make me feel safe again.</p><p>I had flickers of old moments though, sometimes I would see a flash of the childhood they took away, like the flap of wings in my brain I see the shadow of my true self fluttering about on the deepest recess of my mind but I dismiss it just as fast holding onto the idea that WICKED is my life, that they were my only life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Flare of Light in the Darkness

There wasn’t much that they could take away; I had been too young when they came so there weren’t much memories worth of my attention. 

We haven’t been able to do much to stop them from taking me either, my mom hadn’t been able to stop them even though she fought for me with all she got, and she was really an excellent fighter, she just didn’t stand a chance against all of them. They had come with the goal of taking me and they didn’t care about casualties. 

Maybe it could had been different if my dad had been there that day or at least someone else who could have helped mom, I don’t know, I can barely remember how it all went down, I can barely remember my life outside of the Maze, outside of WICKED and all the fake memories they implanted on me. 

My own parents are just blurry images of people in my mind, unable to get a form, unable to make me feel safe again.

I had flickers of old moments though, sometimes I would see a flash of the childhood they took away, like the flap of wings in my brain I see the shadow of my true self fluttering about on the deepest recess of my mind but I dismiss it just as fast holding onto the idea that WICKED is my life, that they were my only life.

I do remember special things about my parents, like a pair of blue irises, and somehow I know those were my dad’s eyes. Sharp and wise and comforting, with a spark of happiness and pride that only showed when I was with him, I remember his deep voice lulling me to sleep at night, encouraging me to learn to walk, teaching me games and sports and among all, his arms holding me close after a nightmare, offering protection.

Mom was different in every way to dad, I know that, I just can’t remember why exactly. My memory of her is as jumble as of him, but I know she had long dark hair, I just can’t place the exact color, I know she was leaner than dad, pretty much like I am, I remember her soft hands petting my hair as she lay beside me every night when we were all alone telling me stories about what she did as a child and about things she and dad did, how they met, even though right now I can’t remember those stories. I remember her soft pink lips on my forehead when she scared my fears away, fingers caressing my cheeks wiping whatever trail of tears fell from my eyes.

Dad meant safety, mom meant comfort and they both were fountains of warmth and love.

But that was before WICKED; that was when the world hadn’t gone to a hellhole. That was before they had come and taken me away from my mom, driven by revenge against a crime they had committed in the first place. But I didn’t knew that back then, I believed that WICKED were the good guys, that we were making a difference for the world, we were helping while underground plans to destroy it grew.

The last fleeting memory of mom is of the day they took me, of her yelling, kicking, punching, twirling with a fierce grace only she could possess as she fought our attackers. But even for her they were too many and eventually she was overpowered. 

I can’t remember exactly how it all happen, what WICKED did to me and the trauma were enough to erase those last moments, but I know I must have screamed for her as I watched her fall, a shattered broken sharp cry of pain and agony only a little kid can make when watching something horrible happen to the ones he loves the most and I know I must have cried for days if not weeks until they erased it all. Until they turn me into one of them.

They gave me a new identity, they made new memories for me and turn me into their puppet. They made everything so real that I never doubted their words; I never doubted my job, myself. I was theirs to do as they pleased while my parents were slowly losing their minds looking for me.

I was just an ignorant boy working for the bad guys.

And then the Maze happen.

Teresa had warned me to keep my head down and ignore everything going on, that it was dangerous and stupid and that we had our orders, we had a purpose, a greater goal to achieve. But there was still this part of me that didn’t agree with what was happening, even though I was participating in all this I felt sick to my stomach and had these sinking feeling in my gut that what I was doing was not what I wanted to do, like some sort of foreign feeling telling me that I could do something better, that I should do something to fix this, that we were wrong.

Doctor Janson didn’t like my small burst of rebellion on the matter, all the questioning and the doubts of our purpose probably made him realize that they were losing control over me. My curiosity to know more was getting me on the wrong side of most of WICKED and then all the sudden, I turn from their favorite pet to a Glader. And just like that night with my mom, Janson’s face smiles at me before everything goes dark and I know I cried out of pain before passing out. It had all been part of the plan me, Teresa and the former leaders of WICKED had made of course but still, the feeling of betrayal and anger flowed inside my veins like poison.

Waking on the box had been a really terrifying experience that I didn’t want to go over ever again. But not remembering anything about myself but my name was way worse. When WICKED did the first swipe I had been able too adapt thanks to the fake memories, but these second swipe was painful, was scarier. Getting use to the Glade, his inhabitants and the Maze had been a tad bit difficult, but compared to the rest of the Gladers, I had done wonderfully on my first few days. I don’t know why the sudden image of a chameleon came into my mind and the memory of someone referring to it as an ability some people had to adapt to different situations faster than others followed that image. Somehow I knew that my parents had that ability and passed it onto me, but that hopeful though only lasted about a second before it was disappearing like all the others flashes of memories and I was passing it up to something the Creators did to me.

From all the troubles I got myself along my life –and I’m not sure why but I know I was quite a trouble magnet as a child and now as a Teenager- getting on Gally’s dark side had been one of the worst and when Teresa came along it made it more difficult and stressful. After her sudden apparition in the box my body became a constant knot of nerves and anxiety, panic seem to have found a home in my heart and I knew my mask would slip out any second and the Gladers would see how terrified I really was.

It was hard to keep a straight face in the Glade; it was hard to pretend I was something I obviously was not. It felt wrong, as if there was this part of me that was aware of the danger and was trying to give me some sort of clue to help myself but my fear wasn’t letting it out. There were a lot of emotions and feelings falling out of control mixing the fake me with the real one in a mess that was driving me insane.

If I didn’t let it out, I was pretty sure all the emotions would slowly kill me. I was losing hope fast and nothing inside of me was making any sense.

Not until that night…

The night I stung myself with a Griever’s needle in hopes of finding the answers to our escape…

It did help. My plan –although crazy- had worked as I wanted. 

Bits and pieces important to complete the Maze, and find a way out, coming back to me in a jumble mess, a puzzle I had to slowly figure out. Things WICKED had left in my head for exactly this purpose. But there were some that I was sure they didn’t want me to see. Images that turned a tad clearer than the flickers of memories passing by.

A boy’s room filled with all sorts of toys and games, sunlight streaming through high window panels that showed a forest area on the ground below. The image of a range out in the open, the targets at the end filled with holes right in the bullseye as I clapped my hands in excitement watching a shadow stand still at the other end of the range ready to shot. The smell of chocolate chip cookies on the oven while we ate dinner on a lazy night, dad blurry figure making jokes while mom tells me not to listen to the silliness in front of me but the smile on her face betraying her annoyance and it makes my own younger self-reflection giggle, there are parties and games, the same shadows of my parents holding me when I fall, comforting me when I’m afraid.

And then there it is the one I didn’t wanted to see at all.

My mother’s fight against WICKED, her futile effort to stop them from taking me away. I can see as clear as day her body falling to the ground when one of the guards caught her by surprise and hit her with the butt of his gun on the back of her head. Her sweet angry voice screaming my name in raged desperation as I’m been pulled away by another guard as I struggle and fight, as I tried to be strong. I’m suddenly not able to see her anymore due to the blurriness of my tears as she finally slumps to the ground unconscious with the enemy taunting her. Taunting me.

And that is when with my last scream of sorrow; my eyes snap open in the reality of my present nightmare and I know what I have to do.


	2. I've Come For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-Beta.  
> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but ended up being a series of one-shots about Thomas and his parents, friends and chidlhood.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

A shattered broken sharp cry of pain and agony escaped my lips, the same way it did when I was a little boy, as I cradle the body of my best friend closer to me, calling his name and cursing the Creators with all the strength I have for taking him away, for causing me to break my promise to him. 

Hot tears are pricking at my eyes and tickling their way down my cheeks mixing with the sweat and dirt that have taken a home on my skin. No matter how hard I squeeze or how loud I scream or how much I cry, Chuck remains immobile on my arms, lifeless… Dead.

Teresa is calling my name on the background, her own broken voice telling me is time to go, I can hear Newt chocked sob and feel Minho moving behind me not sure of what he can do and then I hear muffled gasps of surprise from everyone, there a lot of noises around me all the sudden and I bury my head on Chuck’s chest trying to forget about everything and anything that doesn’t involve clutching the body of my brother and cry.

“Oh my God, it’s him!” there’s a shout of surprise mixed with happiness and relief that I had never heard before and I flinch, shaking my head and keep calling Chuck’s name in a broken whisper. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders and move down my arms so fast that I am trapped against a broad chest shaking my head back and forth and trying to wiggle, kick and fight my way out of the hold, making every effort to pull away, but the man doesn’t let go. He’s muttering in my ear whenever my head gets too close to the man’s mouth, his voice steady and comforting saying nothing and at the same time everything I need to hear.

I slump heavily in the arms of my captor, unable to fight back as all the exhaustion and trauma finally catches up with me and I’m too tired to keep up in my effort to be free, the energy drains so suddenly I feel my knees give in.

I’m lowered to the ground again, my long legs brushing against Chuck’s body as the person holding me turns me around so I’m curled up on his lap, and arm is wrapped around my shoulder, while the other press my head against the persons chest until my ear is just above his heart. He places his chin on top of my sweaty head, still whispering things I cannot comprehend and the hand on my head moves to draw slow circles on my back to help to diminish the tremors I didn’t realize were wracking my body with every sob I try to suppress. I do realize that I my hands had found the fabric of his black shirt and are grasping it so tight, my knuckles are practically white.

I feel the shadow of another person moving behind me and then a soft petite thump is cleaning my tears away even though more keep pouring out in a flow that seems to have no end. Someone is petting my head, rubbing their fingers at the nape of my neck up to the top and back down again in a slow motion, and there’s another voice, this time female, whispering words of comfort too, bringing me back to a more normal level of sanity until I my mind starts catching up with all the noises around me.

“It’s okay Clay, we have you now, everything will be fine. I’m sorry honey, I’m so sorry, please don’t cry, don’t cry sweetie, we have you now. We’ll make everything better, you’re safe now, we got you, mom and dad are here to make it better. It’s okay, it’s okay”

I’m pretty sure I’m still crying out for Chuck, at some point I’m sure I asked for Newt, Minho and the others because there’s again the male voice telling me that they’re fine, that all of us will be okay now, that we’re safe. A cry of pain dies in my throat as my body becomes numb once more.

More strangers are moving around, herding all of my friends towards the exit and helping the ones who are too weak to move again, I turn to stare at Chuck’s lifeless body as is being gathered in someone’s arm and taken away.

“Where are you taken him?! Leave him alone! Chuck! No, he’s my friend! Give him back! CHUCK!” there’s a struggle again; the two people trying to comfort me press themselves against me to hold me back. I start to scream again, for my friend, I start to curse and threaten them to the point of death if they don’t leave him alone, if they don’t leave us alone.  
They don’t have a problem holding me down, they easily pin me between their bodies and once again try and talk to me, try to reassure me that we are safe and I shake my head, closing my eyes tightly as I shattered back into a weeping mess, curses and pleas falling of my lips so fast I cannot understand what I am saying.

“Shhh, Honey, don’t worry, it’s okay” the woman whispered back to me and I close my eyes trying to stop the new waterfall of tears as I punch the person holding me in the chest with weak fists.

“It’s not okay! It’s not! I promise him I’ll save him and he’s dead! I promise to take him home and he died! Chuck is dead and it’s MY FAULT! I promise him goddamn it!”

“TOMMY!”

Newt materializes in front of me, pushing my hair away from my forehead calmly and his eyes look so pained it literally makes my heart shatter, if that is even more possible. Minho is hovering behind him with a look of shocked confusion, like he can’t believe that I’m the same guy that risked his life to help them and now I’m a broken sobbing mess.

“It’s okay, Greenie, they’re here to help us, they’re gonna take us somewhere safe and Chuck is coming with us, okay? You just have to listen to them, do as they say Tommy” Newt places his hand on my shoulder staring at me intently before I nod weakly and slump back into the arms of my captor. His warmth sweeping into my cold skin doing wonders to suppress the shivers and even though I feel small and vulnerable in this position, I also feel safe. It’s like someone just placed a blanket on my cold soul and scared my troubles away.

Soft lips kiss my sweaty forehead and strong arms lift me off the ground, holding more than half my weight. My hand shots sideways grabbing at Newt’s shirt and he pats it gently following us as I stumble my way out trying to keep myself upright but my human stick only offers more help by grabbing most of my death weight.

Newt keeps saying that everything will be okay and I feel bad because somehow I have this impression that I should be the one saying those things, I should be the one reassuring everyone, Newt is still a leader figure to everyone and also older than myself, but I feel like they depend on me more than they do on him, Alby trusted me to take them out, trusted me to keep them safe.

My head slumps back against the shoulder of our savior and from the corner of my eye I can see a blonde man carrying Chuck away and onto some sort of Jet. The others are there too, Minho is taking a bottle of water from man in a blue and red uniform, Frypan and five other kids are eating something that resembles a sandwich, and not that far away I can see a man clad in khaki pants and a purple shirt offering the same food to the rest. Teresa is sitting in a corner with her legs draw up her chest and a blanket wrapped around her body and she seems to be drifting off to sleep.

I’m suddenly feeling tired too.

I turn back when some strange noise startles me and is then that I notice finally the woman walking inside the Jet with Newt, arranging a borrowed jacket on my friend’s lean body and guiding him to the nearest seat. She presses a water bottle into the thin fingers and orders him softly to drink some slowly and to get some rest.

I found myself gaping and wide eyed when she turn around to look at me and I’m finally seeing her for the first time.

She has red curls, like a dark wine waterfall, that brush over her shoulders. Her skin is porcelain white like a doll brought to life, her body slim and curved almost perfectly. Her eyes are nut shaped and honey green with long dark eyelashes and there are barely visible freckles on her nose and cheeks, her lips are a rosy pink and bow like in figure and her nose is soft and rounded. She’s not too tall, barely rising over me and when she turns her eyes to look directly into mines, she smiles: sweetly and lovingly and that smile makes a shiver run down my spine.

Because I know that woman. 

I know who she is. 

The sting of the Griever making my memory unlocks faster and it doesn’t take long before her face come into my memories and is escaping my lips.

“Mom?” I croak out. Newt’s eyes snap open at my words but the woman smile grows when I recognize her and it is then that I’m filled with this need to look up and I see another face staring down at me as the man helping me settles in another chair, pulling me back half into his lap. 

He starts again massaging my back, humming lightly, and I feel the vibrations of his voice in my ear. Pale blue eyes look into my face worryingly but also relieved, there kind of big and surrounded by a set of light eyelashes; his skin is tanner than hers; it’s just like mine. He’s broad in complexion, and has his fair share of muscles, especially in the arms, his hair is a dirty blonde, more like sandy brown and styled up in short messy spikes. He stares at me with sharp comforting and warm eyes. “Dad? How…?”

“Shh, It’s okay, little bird, I got you” Dad whispers softly his fingers moving so slow and soothingly I feel my eyelids start to drop without my consent, the warm of his arms making me drowsy.

Mom walks back to us and places a blanket over my still shivering form and sits beside us and then I feel more like see Newt sit on the other side of dad right behind me and Minho shuffling closer to the rest of the Gladers, his eyes telling me he will take watch over all of us on my place and I offered a weak grateful smile.

“Sleep, little bird, we’ll be right here when you wake up” mom whispers softly carding her fingers in my hairs once again.

My eyes finally felt shut and I allowed sleep to take me knowing that when I wake up everything would be okay.

I was finally going home.


	3. Watch Our Memories Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is non-Beta so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> This new chapter is from Clint's side, more of a fill to show a bit of Thomas past through the eyes of his Dad. Take note that this chapter is done in a different way than the last one and also it is my first time trying to do something like this so bare with me with this.
> 
> Thanks to the people for the Kudos and the Comments.

He remembers the slight moment of shock when he had received the news and the whoops of happiness that jumped out of his still surprised throat when it all got processed. He actually forgot how many times he thanked Bruce and the rest of the SHIELD medical staff for working this little miracle. 

Clint didn’t hate the twins, on the contrary, he loved them and care for them a lot, they were Natasha’s kids after all; the girl looked like her mother from head to toe, same curvy body, same fiery red hair, same untamed green eyes, the boy was more like Tasha in personality, fierce, strong, extremely smart and cunning. But at the end of the day they were not his, and Clint felt that hole in his chest when he imagine himself dying one of these days without any legacy behind, without the joys of parenthood.

Bruce had heard his concerns one night. He and Tony worked on a way to undo what the Red Room had done to Natasha. SHIELD and Wayne had offered facilities and equipment to their project under the orders of Fury himself and Clint found himself hoping for that little miracle.

“For real?” he had asked, because he wanted to be sure. Clint needed to be reassured that this was not a dream.

“Would I lie to you about this?” it is not her answer what confirms his suspicions, but the unusual glint of joy in her eyes and the way she has her arms cross a little above her still flat belly like she’s ready to protect the new life forming inside of her. Clint can tell she’s being honest, he can practically feel the baby even though it hasn’t being alive for more than two months, and that’s what makes him happier the most because in less than nine months he will have a son or daughter of his own.

A hundred percent Barton child.

And he feels like God is not actually onto him after all.

** -*-*- **

It was near the end of the year when it happened, November to be exact; Clint was kind of surprised that after a decade the Avengers had come to this. Years of fighting evil and then when the world finally stayed safe, the Avengers had settled in for what normal lives they could get. They each found their other half and started to create a home with them until the children were born.

The Avengers had already grown accustom to have little ones on their mist, Lucy, Jason and Bucky certainly weren’t little kids anymore but they weren’t or appeared old enough to count as adults either. But there was the thought that those three couldn't be considered children when they were as old as some Avengers on the grand scheme of things.

But then their mighty leader had finally gotten a boy for himself and brought the first Avenger legacy who they named James Rogers. Thor and Jane Foster had brought Kaden two years after Jem and then Tony and Pepper gave way to Nate barely four months later. Contrary to Tony, Bruce and Evy waited a year for their child to come into their lives, but Ariadne was received with sincere happiness into the family at Avengers Tower none the less. River with all his cowboy casanova attitude had waited almost to the last minute to aport on their growing family with his own baby flame; Magdalena. And that was without counting the few scattered members of the Avengers that came and went as they pleased and got themselves their own children for a new generation of heroes.

And now the day had finally come for Clint and Natasha to bring a kid of their own and close the circle the Avengers had created. To say he was overly excited was putting things midly. Nine months of waiting and the day was finally here. He couldn’t wait to see the baby Barton and hold him safely in his arms.

**-*-*-**

He’s a funny looking baby, Clint cannot deny himself that. He’s a tiny little thing, with darkish honey eyes as light and big as his mother, pale like skin inherited also from Natasha and a mop of light Barton brownish hair. He’s a bit small in contrast with other babies, but according to Bruce, the little boy is as healthy as his parents. Clint doesn’t care about his size, he’s sure the baby will grow, even though neither he, nor Natasha, are particularly tall, he knows his baby is not like the others.

“It’s so weird, I feel like I’m holding E.T. or something”

Natasha punches him on the shoulder, mindful of the bundle of blue blanket and baby on Clint’s arms as she says “Shut up, he’s not an alien, Clint, that’s your son!”

He smiles as the baby gurgles “I’m serious Nat, we have to be careful, maybe the Council is right, we don’t want our own son killing us when they come to claim him as their own. Look at Thor's family, those are mild aliens compared to everything we have seen and they are crazy”

They both break into a laughing fit as she steals her new born son from Clint’s arms. The door opens in that moment as Lucy and Jason break into the room. Soon enough there’s more laughter, high-pitched voices and baby gurgles in the mix.

They decide to name him after them both, using their names as basis and so Clayton Neal Barton-Romanoff is born.

**-*-*-**

Clint soon learns that his son is not like any other, he’s more alert than other kids; his mind overly curious and open to nothing and everything at the same time. He’s a few months old when he started to differentiate from Natasha’s arms to Clint’s, reacting accordingly. They don’t struggle trying to fit him into a schedule that works for their own ridiculously built one. He’s grown accustomed to the Twins constant presence even waiting for them when they get home from school at the elevators door, sitting on the carpet like a guard, an over excited squeal announcing the arrival of the older kids.

Clayton learned to crawl at five months old and he started walking exactly one month later on his own, making double the trouble for his already stressed parents. He says his first word when he turns nine and a half months, “Aba” is what escape his rosy lips as soon as they walk into the nursery that morning. Natasha is sure the boy is trying to say Tasha, that is his word for her and Clint fights back saying it can also be his word, stating that it sounds closer to dad. Lucy and Jason also butt in, stating that is Clay’s word for them, for his siblings.

They never actually learn what Clay meant, but they sure as hell realize that the kid’s brain is growing fast.

**-*-*-**

Like any other children, Clay goes through different fanatic stages, one week he’s gushing about legos, the next he’s crazy for cars, then dogs, then some cartoon, and so on. This week he’s got a thing for dinosaurs, and as the good father he is, Clint has bought every coloring book and some child learning books for his little bird entertainment.

“Did you know that Velociraptors had feathers?” He asks Natasha as he slid on the seat beside her. Natasha is checking on Jason’s homework when he enters and lifts her head to acknowledge him as soon as he is seated, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Who told you that?”

Clint points with his thump down the corridor where their children are. “Clay did”

“Clint, our son is three years old, he barely knows how to read, where could he get information like that? He probably heard it from Jay or Lucy” Natasha scoffs going back to the paper.

“No, he found it himself. He told me they found some specimens, he is sure Hawks and Eagles are descendants of Raptors, which is pretty difficult to tell since there’s no proof about it, but he’s right about the feathers, I looked it up”

“Well, now we know why his interest in dinosaurs comes then, he’s taking after Hawk daddy”

A week later, Clay walks into the room, he’s stole a belt from Clint’s and has Natasha’s black blouse tied on his neck like a cape, using a nerf bow to call for his parents attention. He claims he’s going to be a hero when he grows up. Clint kind of wishes they go back to the dinosaur thing.

**-*-*-**

Clay turns five on a cold November day. It is the same day the Avengers are called in to be debriefed on the sudden disappearance of several kids, all among Clay’s rank of age, all children of powerful people, including some SHIELD agents kids, senators, doctors, agents of other organizations, other heroes as well, the list goes on and on. Fury is sure one of the Avengers League enemy is behind all this, Hydra and the Red Room the most logical ones.

“We have to put the kids under witness protection out of SHIELD jurisdiction, we cannot have them be linked to any of us” Natasha claims as she paces the length of the common room in the tower in front of the rest. They all understand the risks of having their children there and are willing to give up some time with them in order to protect them.

Steve offers a place, stating that before passing away, one of his friends of the Howling Commandos had set a refugee for Orphan children in Kansas, and he's willing to take one kid with him alongside his own. Bruce gives the location of several of his safe houses for them to use as Evy states she will take their own girl to Valhalla and Thor agree on taking his son and other two kids to Asgard to keep them safe.

In the end, Tony uses Steve idea for Nate; while Evy takes Aria to her home planet. Natasha lets Clint and Thor take Kaden and the Romanoff twins to Asgard as she takes Clay to one of Bruce houses to keep themselves safe, River takes the other one for himself and Lena.

“You’ll look after him, won’t you, Tash?” he asks that night while packing his son stuff. Natasha seems visibly offended by his question but she nods anyway saying.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I will! You just make sure Lucy and Jason arrive safe on Asgard and I’ll make sure Clay is hidden”

“Promise me”

It was the last thing Clint said to her that night. The only promise he ever asked her. He’s decided he’s going to play bait to keep them, his own son, the twins and Natasha safe, but he can’t shake the feeling that something will go wrong.

“I promise Clint”

**-*-*-**

He’s sleeping on a Hotel near Redwood City when his phone rings. Clint instantly knows something is wrong as he watches his emergency phone –the one only the Avengers know exist- call out to him over and over. With a trembling hand, he quickly steadies, he thumps the answer button and presses the device to his ear.

“Barton”

“Clint…” it comes out broken, in a pained groan between harsh intakes of breath, but he can recognize Natasha’s voice. He’s instantly up, searching for his boots as he answers.

“Tash, Tash, what happen? Are you and Clay okay? Where are you?”

She sobbing now, something he has never heard her done before, talking in a jumble mess he cannot understand. He’s panicking, thinking something happened to the Twins. Is an irrational thought, they are in Asgard safe, away from the hands of whoever is kidnapping children and also, they’re both teenagers, way pass the age their mysterious enemies are looking for, or so he hopes and helds to that idea. He’s clearly denying himself another thought, darker and painful. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that it is not only Lucy and Jason she can be worried about like that.

“I’m sorry, Clint, I tried to… I tried to fight, I fought with everything I got, but they were too many, they caught us by surprise. Is them Clint, they took him”

Clint shakes his head; his next intake of breath comes choked out. “Nat, please, no, tell me is not what I’m thinking, tell me is not that”

He remembers a lot of things. Clint’s memory is one of his best weapons. The past five years flash at the forefront of his mind like a movie. A child face with features similar to his and Natasha playing main role in all of them. Clint remembers also all his mission, all the torture, pain and fear. But her next words are the worst he has ever experience before and it’s what eventually breaks the dam of emotions he has inside.

“Clint, is the Red Room. They're the ones kidnapping kids and now... They took Clay”

A ragged scream tore from his mouth as he flung the phone against the wall dropping to his knees.  In a swift motion, he lets himself be dragged into the depths of his own despair.


End file.
